


dizzily, tentatively aimed russian roulette

by levken



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Death but im the one dying, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levken/pseuds/levken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ritsu is a thief, and Izumi confronts him about it, only to cause even more problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dizzily, tentatively aimed russian roulette

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, sorry, the most predictable bi*ch in the universe is back. anyone else dying over the event announcement? hahaha. sucks.
> 
> ill probably be back in a week for ritsus birthday. i guess this is my 6 day late birthday present to myself, lol.
> 
> unbeta'd, ill look it over when its not 6am. i marked it as t but read at your own disgression.

Izumi hates sweating, but more than that, he hates  _ other people _ sweating. They attend an idol course, so you’d think that someone would have explained the importance of deodorant on the first day, but apparent-fucking-ly, that would be too complicated to get through a fifteen year old’s thick skull.

 

Whatever—it’s fine. He’s fine. He can take refuge in the locker room for the time being, even if it  _ is _ normally the place that smells the most. No one’s there now—they’re all too busy actually  _ participating _ in the festival activities, but after the whole “megane” fiasco, he’s over it—so Izumi can pretty much get away with whatever he wants to, spraying the room to smell better included.

 

He just has to find the air freshener he keeps in his locker—in case of smelly emergencies and sometimes just for the sake of wordlessly spraying Kaoru to make him paranoid—and he’s golden. He can spend the rest of this festival sitting in here, scrolling through the photos of Makoto that he could barely manage to take today, thanks to that damn Isara (no matter—he’d make up for it later).

 

It could all be so easy, but of course it  _ isn’t _ —apparently he isn’t the only person with the idea of checking out the locker room, and to top that off, apparently he isn’t the only person with the idea of checking out  _ his _ locker. What the hell?

 

“What the hell, Kuma-kun?” He voices, stepping closer until he can slam his locker shut with one hand, pinning Ritsu against the neighboring lockers with his presence alone. This would be a lot more threatening if Ritsu wasn’t so close to him in height, but he takes his best shot at intimidation, eyebrows knitting together as he glares two centimeters down at him.

 

“Hi, Secchan,” Ritsu says simply, sidestepping to escape Izumi’s invisible grasp. Izumi follows him, placing his other hand on the locker next to Ritsu’s head. “Ahh—scary? Please don’t make me have to call for help, okay?”

 

Izumi ignores his poorly thought out commentary, leaning closer to him. They’d already erased all of the physical boundaries between them by this point in their relationship, but he somehow feels a little embarrassed at being able to feel Ritsu’s breath on his face—anyway. “What were you doing in my locker? How’d you know the combination, you shitty thief?”

 

Ritsu gives him a flat look Izumi hadn’t been expecting, as if the answer is  _ obvious _ , as if Izumi’s playing the fool by asking, and he leans back again, feeling a little pink.

 

“ _ Well _ ?” he demands, not letting Ritsu get out of this one.

 

“Secchan… it’s 0430. You really thought that was so hard to figure out?” 

 

Izumi frowns, because  _ yes _ , he definitely thought that would be hard to get for someone who avoids the subject of Yuu-kun whenever Izumi brings him up. He must have gotten the information from Mao—ugh, sabotaged again. He’d seriously get him back for this.

 

“Which brings me to ask my own question—shouldn’t it be 0922 by now? How am I still trailing behind? That’s really insulting, don’t you think?” Ritsu looks up at him through his lashes, and for a second, Izumi’s mind goes blank. What is it with the Sakumas and their stupidly long eyelashes?  _ Jesus Christ _ , he thinks, and then proceeds to push any and all thoughts that include more quoting of Tsukasa away.

 

“No,” he finally says, removing one hand from whoever’s poor locker got featured in their makeshift kabedon so that he can focus on checking out the insides of his own. Reaching for the air freshener, he looks back at Ritsu, squinting. “What did you take, anyway?” He can’t think of anything he’s missing in particular, and Ritsu’s not holding anything behind his back.

 

“You called me a thief without even knowing I took something,” Ritsu comments, leaning back against the lockers even without Izumi holding him there. “Secchan, I’m  _ hurt _ .”

 

“You didn’t deny it, now did you? Stop fucking around already,” Izumi continues, shutting his locker for the last time after grabbing the bottle he needs. He shakes it a few times, and when he notices Ritsu wrinkling his nose to purposely get across that he doesn’t like it, he shakes it one for time for good measure, or maybe spite. Whichever. 

 

“Why are you even wearing a jacket, anyway? It’s hot as hell out there, and it’s not much better in here.” Ritsu’s face is still flushed from the heat outside, even—Izumi tries not to think about that. “It doesn’t even match your shirt, anyway, and… oh.”

 

Oh,  _ seriously _ . All of the aforementioned heat rushes to Izumi’s face at once, and the air freshener makes a loud, metallic  _ clack!  _ as it hits the floor. Ritsu cringes at the sound, and Izumi thinks it serves him right as he steps forward, grasping at the fabric of Ritsu’s jacket—no,  _ his _ jacket—wondering how it took him so long to realize.

 

“Ow, ow, Secchan,” Ritsu says weakly, but he’s smirking, and Izumi wants to wipe all of that coyness off his face. 

 

He’s only holding the jacket, not hurting him in any way, and yet for some reason his fingers are itching to reach up and give him a good choking for playing Izumi like an idiot. He doesn’t do that, though, of course, and instead lets go, exhaling through his nose.

 

“ _ Kuma-kun _ ,” he starts, trying to sound threatening, but when the latter half of the nickname comes out as a sigh, he knows he’s already failed at that. He might as well get to the point. “Why are you wearing  _ my _ jacket? You have your own.”

 

Ritsu brings his hand up to where Izumi was formerly gripping, lifting the jacket up to his face so that he can rub his face against it a little.  _ Gross _ .

 

“I like yours. Smells like you,” he says innocently, and Izumi doesn’t know whether he wants to kiss him or scold him. He decides on the latter.

 

“Don’t be disgusting, disgusting.” He steps closer, keeping their eyes level. “I don’t care if you’re wanting to use it to fulfill your weirdass fantasies—it’s  _ mine _ , you know. Leave my shit out of your nasty kinks.”

 

“I never brought up anything dirty, though?” Ritsu raises an eyebrow, as if he’s actually curious about anything and not the person controlling this situation. “Secchan sure has a lewd mind to think like that. Maybe I just thought it was comfortable?”

 

Ah. Ah, Izumi hates it when Ritsu twists his words like that, but what he hates even more is the fact that Ritsu’s trying to slide his thigh between Izumi’s legs discreetly, as if Izumi’s an  _ actual _ idiot. He might have had a few pitiful moments during this whole exchange, but he could amount that to the heat getting to him—letting Ritsu get away with something this obvious? Now, that’d be him showing actual stupidity.

 

“Don’t play dumb.” He leans closer until their foreheads are touching, pushing Ritsu’s knee down with his hand. He might be a little into this, but he’s not about to get hot and heavy in a locker room—who is he? Chiaki? Pushing thoughts of that sports idiot aside, he swallows back a sigh. “I don’t like you wearing this without my permission, but I’ll ignore your rudeness this once because I’m feeling generous.”

 

“Generous,” Ritsu repeats, smile still present. He’s cute, sure, but no amount of cute can make up for how easily he can get Izumi wrapped around his finger. Izumi really needs to work on his ability to deny him. “Generous enough to kiss me, Secchan?”

 

Izumi hesitates, and then tilts his head, their noses brushing together as he does. Yeah—yeah, he’ll work on learning how to deny Ritsu later. For now, he takes it upon himself to steal the first kiss, if only because it’d sure be a pretty picture to see Ritsu’s face even redder while wearing his jacket. 

 

(It’s not like he’s a weird pervert or anything, but Ritsu seriously causes him to question himself sometimes.)

 

Izumi brings his hand back up to Ritsu’s shoulder, slowly sliding it up the back of his neck, the hair at his nape tickling his palm in a way that isn’t actually unpleasant. Ritsu’s hair is softer than it looks, and it actually  _ does  _ already look soft, so whenever they’re in these situations, Izumi immediately finds himself wanting to touch it, threading his fingers through it as he presses more kisses to Ritsu’s lips. It’s rare that he gets to lead like this, so when Ritsu lets him, he takes the opportunity, grasping at the jacket that Ritsu stole with his other hand.

 

He presses against Ritsu, praying to whatever god is out there that no one will find it a convenient time to enter the locker room unannounced, and trails his kisses further down, pressing them against Ritsu’s jawbone, the skin surprisingly warm against his lips—Ritsu’s a naturally cold person, so when Izumi causes him to warm up like this, he internally gives himself a few points for it. 

 

“I really think,” he says in between kisses, moving back up to his lips again to muffle half of Ritsu’s needy, staged whine, “that you’re the one thinking lewd things. What would you have even done if someone else came in here, idiot?”

 

“Secchan,” Ritsu says breathlessly, and Izumi internally reminds himself to count odd prime numbers because he’s  _ not  _ a loser who’s going to pop a boner in a locker room. No way. “Idiot—,” he stops momentarily as he leans forward, quickly seeking out Izumi’s lips again after Izumi pauses to take a breath, “is not a romantic word, okay?”

 

“ _ Tch _ —like I care,” he snaps back, immediately regretting not being more aware of the situation. He’s ninety percent sure that Ritsu’s a chuunibyou, yeah, but when he finds himself as the one with his back suddenly slammed against the lockers, he damns that pseudo-vampire strength of his all the way to hell. “Hey, Kuma-kun! Watch it, will you? I don’t want bruises on my back for no good fucking reason, alright?” 

 

He tightens his grip on Ritsu’s hair, but that doesn’t stop Ritsu from kissing him, having abandoned his lips in favor of his neck. “Secchan,” he says, breath hot against Izumi’s skin—Izumi can’t fight back the shudder that comes as a result. “The sun really tired me out… Ah, vampires can’t survive like this, you know.”

 

“No,” Izumi says immediately, and Ritsu hums, pressing more kisses to his neck, each with a light, slow suck, not giving Izumi’s words much thought—seemingly, at least, until he speaks up again.

 

“No what? I hadn’t asked anything.” Ritsu lifts his head again, looking at him now, and Izumi remembers for the third time that week why he likes Ritsu’s eyes—it’s despicable how fond he is of them, really, and he’ll never let Ritsu know, but at the same time, he must already have realized it with how often he uses eye contact to get his way with Izumi.

 

“No, I don’t care about your vampire bullshit. I’m not letting you bite me.” It’s not like he has any photoshoots within the next week or two, but god, the thought of anyone realizing is too much. He can’t—no, not even when Ritsu looks at him pleadingly, and especially not even when Ritsu calls his name in that one pleading tone, the one he hates but that somehow always gets the best of him.

 

“ _ Secchan _ .” He presses his mouth to Izumi’s throat again, expression bordering pouty. Izumi’s just glad he can’t see him. “Please? Ritsu will die without blood if conditions get worse than this.”

 

What the hell is with the third person? What is he, an infant?

 

More importantly, why the hell is it  _ working _ ?

 

“I—,” Izumi says, interrupting himself with a shaky sigh. “Fine. Fine, whatever, just...not don’t go overboard, or else I’m going to get you back, okay.” Even he doesn’t believe himself.

 

“Thank  _ you _ , Secchan,” Ritsu says in an annoying voice, which is to say, a cute one. God, Izumi hates this. He tilts his head up, exposing his neck without putting any more thought into it, because if he does, he’ll mortify himself.

 

The bite itself  _ hurts _ , sure, but he’s found that he’s sort of okay with it, for the most part, considering how “considerate” Ritsu is about it, swiping his tongue against the newly forming bruise and then following that with kisses, which he’s surprisingly good at, by the way—Izumi would have never guessed, no matter how many times he’d thought about kissing him prior to their relationship. Izumi bites his own lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to keep him in his right mind enough  _ not  _ to let out the groan he’s holding in. 

 

It’s not like Ritsu’s  _ that  _ good or anything, and it’s not like this is his first time dealing with him like this, so he won’t find himself doing anything embarrassing, at least, but  _ ugh _ —letting Ritsu get away with this period is enough of a dent in his pride for him to mentally barrage himself. 

 

“Kuma-kun, hurry up already,” he hisses, leaning away from him just enough that Ritsu has to chase him a little to resume his position. “Isn’t that enough? That’s enough, right?” 

 

“Secchan is so impatient,” Ritsu scolds him, but there’s laughter buried beneath his tone. “I’m done, I’m done…” He lifts his head again, leaning in to kiss Izumi, and at first Izumi accepts the kiss, but when he realizes what Ritsu’s doing, and the taste of iron floods his senses, he pulls back, resting the back of his head uncomfortably against a locker.

 

“You’re disgusting,” he says, licking his lips, and Ritsu sticks his tongue out at him, grinning. “We’re finished here, aren’t we? You got your fill, and I don’t want to get caught humping against the lockers like a stupid teenager, so…?”

 

“Aww, Secchan.”

 

“Don’t ‘aww, Secchan,’ me. You know, I’m not going to forget your boldness here? Just wait until practice is over later. I’ll seriously make you regret this—”

 

“You enjoyed it, though?” Ritsu presses his hands against the metal on either side of Izumi, tilting his head as if to indicate confusion that Izumi knows isn’t real.

 

“You…,” he trails off, and it’s only by some blessed coincidence that the locker room door opens now of all times. Izumi pushes at Ritsu’s shoulder, and Ritsu relents, letting him pass. Like hell he’s going to get caught in this position. “Be quiet… Actually, put my jacket back!” 

 

He steps away from Ritsu, lifting his head as he waits to see if the person at the door is actually doing anything, and sighs in relief as he recognizes the voice that finally speaks up.

 

“Sena-senpai?” Oh, Kasa-kun. Izumi’d never admit this out loud, but sometimes he sure could be an angel.

 

“Yeah?” he calls in response, stepping around the row of lockers necessary to see Tsukasa. “What do you want, Kasa-kun?”

 

“One of your classmates is looking for you outside, and I was told to come get you, since they saw you come this wa— _ Jesus Christ _ , what happened to your neck?”

 

He takes his compliment back; Tsukasa is an absolute demon.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, grabbing Tsukasa by the shoulder until he turns around, at which point Izumi pushes at his back, leading him toward the door. “There was a huge bug in here, and I tried to kill it, but it got mad at me before I could and, you know, bit the hell out of me. I couldn’t kill it, though—it might come for you next if we don’t get out of here.”

 

“What?” Tsukasa sounds puzzled, but his pale face is an indication that he’s buying into it enough to let Izumi push him outside. “What—should I tell someone about it!? We can’t have that in—”

 

“No, just...just shut up, Kasa-kun,” Izumi says, closing the locker room door behind him. “I’m going to deal with the annoying pest problem later, so just forget it.”

  
And he really would deal with it later, in the form of killing Kuma-kun—naturally.

**Author's Note:**

> and such is the tale of how izumi walked into judgement with a really bad hickey.


End file.
